


Sweet Tooth

by kaistrex (weishen)



Series: Sliding Doors [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale Family, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, Baking, Christmas, Confessions, Fluff, Implied Past Bullying, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-09
Updated: 2016-12-09
Packaged: 2018-09-07 12:52:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8801542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weishen/pseuds/kaistrex
Summary: Stiles finds out bad boy Derek Hale has a sweet tooth.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [StaciNadia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StaciNadia/gifts).



> I wrote two different things based on the same premise because I couldn’t choose which one to go with. This part is a high school AU (which should probably be read first), the other is reuniting years later, almost in a sliding doors kind of way. I like to think they show Sterek were fated to be *-* haha  
> I hope you like them!

Every year, Beacon Hills holds a Christmas market on the third weekend of December in the mostly-empty train station parking lot. The locals bring out the crafts they've been working on - Christmas tree baubles, greeting cards, knitted scarves - but it’s the food that’s the biggest attraction.

Homemade cakes and breads and pastries and candyfloss are only the tip of the iceberg and Stiles salivates at just the thought.

He was invited to tag along with Scott and Allison, but being third wheel to a lovey-dovey couple is his last idea of fun, so he feels no remorse ditching them as soon as they arrive - especially when his farewell goes unnoticed.

His first port of call is Mandy Miller's hot chocolate stall, a yearly staple, and he cradles a steaming cup infused with hazelnut as he wanders the section reserved for the craft stalls with cursory glances. Really, he's just dragging out the anticipation.

He’s idling by a stall manned by Mrs. Cooper, when her husband squeezes behind it and spots him perusing the wares.

“Stiles! You looking for your old man? I saw him over with the Davisons about to buy a burger.”

 _Is_ he? Stiles spins on his heel, glad his cup is almost empty, and squeezes between the two nearest stalls for a shortcut to the next row, but promptly screeches to a halt.

Standing in the space behind the stalls with what looks like a steaming slice of Mrs. Acker’s famous apple pie glazed with caramelised cinnamon sugar... is Derek Hale.

Leather-jacket-wearing, bad-boy-senior Derek Hale. Derek look-at-my-sisters-wrong-and-I’ll-punch-your-teeth-down-your-throat Hale.

Thankfully going unnoticed, Stiles edges back and peers out at him, and though he knows he’s acting like a creeper, he can’t help himself. Because Derek… is smiling.

It’s not that Stiles has never seen him smile before. He smiles often enough with his small group of friends at their lunch table and he was smiling pretty damn hard that time he broke Chase Alderman’s nose for groping his little sister, but this? This is something else.

It’s the softest, warmest, most content smile he's ever seen on anyone, and Stiles’ already fluttering heart just about gives out on him.

Derek’s holding a little plastic fork and is breaking off tiny bites of pie which he delicately places in his mouth, and it’s like he waits for them to melt on his tongue, chasing the taste and savouring every crumb until he moves onto the next mouthful.

Stiles doesn’t think he’s ever seen Derek eat anything sweet in his entire high school career. (Not that he’s ever paid that much attention. At all. _Really_. Their lunch tables just sit kind of near each other, that’s all.)

Perhaps the reason for his secrecy is that the Hales have a stall of their own and Mrs. Hale would see Derek enjoying a dessert elsewhere as some sort of unforgivable betrayal. But as he watches, a long-lost memory reaches him from when he started high school last year and first laid eyes on him. Every girl and probably half the guys had been swooning as he passed, while one bitter senior muttered to his friend about knowing the kid in junior high when he’d been a different weight (and that was putting it in a much nicer term than the guy had used) and was always last picked for teams.

At the time, Stiles had inwardly scoffed and rolled his eyes at the blatant envy lacing the tale, but now, seeing him hiding from view and indulging in something he clearly doesn’t allow often, he’s not so sure.

His mind still runs away from him though, picturing Derek with that smile but with softer edges and cuddly sweaters and snuggling in front of a fire and feeding him cookies and trading eskimo kisses and- he needs to get a hold of himself.

But Derek Hale has a sweet tooth and the knowledge is too important to pass up. So as soon as he gets home, Stiles does something he’s never done before.

He bakes.

It starts simple enough with a tray of brownies: mix it all together and sling it in the oven until the timer dings. He takes a square to school on Monday, rustles the foil as obnoxiously as possible as he unwraps it at lunch, and doesn’t need to fake his delighted moan when his teeth break through the thin, crisp crust to the soft gooey goodness inside.

And Derek… Derek notices. A sly glance reveals his stare, eyes transfixed by the treat in Stiles’ hand. His mouth even parts like he’s the one taking a bite, until he snaps his gaze away like a preacher resisting sin.

But Stiles is just getting started.

Tuesday sees him with a tupperware full of frosted gingerbread shaped like stars from cookie cutters that belonged to his mom, forgotten at the back of a kitchen cupboard. He brings the whole lot to school this time because he didn’t think the brownies through and now he already has a tray of leftovers he has to hide from his dad - and he may be hoping Derek will see the extras and decide to approach when Stiles makes a show of offering them around.

Of Derek’s table, only Erica and Isaac come to take one each and Stiles gets increasingly nervous until there’s just one left. Derek is studiously ignoring everyone around as he pokes at his puddle of mash potatoes.

Jackson reaches for the final cookie but Stiles slaps his hand away (he’s already had two, the glutton) and stands on trembling legs, clutching the box tightly in his hands. This will be the first time he's spoken to Derek voluntarily.

“Want one?”

Everyone around the table falls silent as they all stare up at him. Erica smirks and Stiles is half-expecting her to snatch it for herself, but she turns to Derek with raised eyebrows instead.

Derek spares him the curtest of glances. “No, thanks.” There’s a thud and Derek jolts with a hiss, shooting Erica a glare.

“You sure? It’s the last one,” Stiles coaxes, shaking the box under Derek’s nose.

He takes a deep, painful breath and speaks through a clenched jaw. “I don’t like sweet things.”

Stiles stares, dumbfounded, wondering if he’s got it all wrong, if the pie was an exception, if- But Derek is avoiding his eyes and Stiles grins. “Is that so? Then you won’t mind if I-”

Derek actually flinches when he sinks his teeth into the gingerbread, wide eyes fixed on Stiles’ lips.

Stiles breaks off one of the star’s points and holds it out. “Just a bite?” he tries again around his own mouthful.

Derek rolls his eyes but the attempt at irritation is diminished by the almost greedy way he leans forward and closes his lips around the fragment between Stiles’ fingers. Stiles nearly chokes on the crumbs in his mouth and doesn’t miss the way Derek’s eyelashes flutter, the way a ghost of that smile flickers on his lips before he clamps down on the emotion and pretends he’s not impressed.

Stiles can still feel the brush of Derek’s lips against his fingertips as he stumbles back to his table, sure he just experienced the most erotic thing that’s ever going to happen to him.

The next day, he tries again with some cupcakes topped with salted caramel frosting, and he nearly whoops for joy when Derek accepts without hesitation but- “Cora might like it,” he says, and Stiles deflates, eyeing him suspiciously.

“Right. Cora.”

Derek flushes and his brow furrows as he stares up at him, like he’s trying to work out how Stiles knows.

Stiles doesn’t miss when he leaves the cafeteria five minutes early, cupcake in hand, and when he manages to sneak away a few minutes later, he’s just in time to spot Derek tossing the wrapper in the trash, licking each finger carefully for any trace of sugar.

On Thursday, Derek takes the offered white chocolate chip cookie, grumbling that it'll get him to leave him alone, but he's avoiding Stiles’ eyes again as he says it and he’s sure he means the exact opposite.

For Friday, the last day of school before winter break, he makes nothing - at least, that's what he makes him think. And though seeing Derek's hopeful glances grow more infrequent as he wilts is a stab to the heart, he knows it will make what he has planned later all the sweeter. Hopefully.

That evening, the trail leading up to the Hale house is dark and winding, the moon obscured by the trees looming on either side.

Stiles is torn between praying Derek will be home and turning tail, constantly readjusting his sweaty hands on the steering wheel.

He hadn't really thought much about the purpose of that first tray of brownies he baked, and with the gingerbread, he'd wanted Derek to have one, but then what? It was only as the week progressed that he realised he was courting him with baked goods. And now, tonight, if everything goes as planned, Derek will realise it too.

Or maybe he should just go home?

He gives himself a shake. Derek is intimidating, but he isn’t mean. In the past, if a girl worked up the courage to ask him out, Stiles heard he’d always let her down gently. In fact, he’s never heard of him having a girlfriend and he’s praying it’s because _wrong team_ and not just because no girl has ever caught his eye.

And anyway, Derek will only be around for a couple more months, so Stiles can go all out in his wooing and if he says no, he’ll be off to college and Stiles won’t have to see him around school anymore. No big deal.

When he pulls to a stop in front of the house, it takes all his willpower to get out of the car. Derek's older sister's car is in the driveway and he prays she isn't the one to open the door. He reaches over to the passenger seat to retrieve the tin waiting there and peels back the foil to make sure the cinnamon sugar glaze on top of the mini apple pie is undisturbed by the jostling of the trail. It's still warm from the oven and perfectly even, so he rolls the foil back over and marches up to the door.

Derek's mother opens it, Talia Hale's bright, curious eyes flickering to his arms held behind his back to protect the pie from view. He'd hoped there'd be no other witnesses to this, but too late now.

“Hello, Mrs. Hale.”

“Stiles! Come on in, you must be freezing!” she exclaims, stepping aside and waving him forward.

“Oh, no, that's okay.” Getting caught inside with the door shut behind and no easy means of escape is the last thing he wants. “I was just wondering if Derek is in?”

Her eyes glitter above a knowing smile and Stiles’ mouth goes dry.

“Derek, it's for you!” she calls up the stairs behind her and Stiles’ heart is pounding so hard it’s a wonder he can hear her. He’s sure it must stop completely when a pair of socked feet appear at the top of the stairs, followed by the long legs and muscular arms and gorgeous face of Derek. And he's wearing _glasses_.

Stiles is dead. That's it. Over. He can't go on.

Derek jerks to a halt on the bottom step, eyes widening momentarily, before he visibly swallows and comes to stand in the doorway.

“Hi?”

“Uh.” Stiles glances at Derek’s mom still lingering expectantly.

Derek tries to shoo her away with a jerk of his head, but she just blinks innocent eyes at him until Derek huffs and joins Stiles outside, shutting the door in her face. “What?”

He doesn't sound pleased, whether for being interrupted from whatever he was doing or getting dragged out into the cold or being embarrassed in front of his mother, and Stiles can feel whatever courage he'd managed to scrape up slipping through his fingers. He imagines saying “Nothing. Doesn't matter” and running, but that would just serve to piss him off even more, so his only option is to go through with it.

He brings the little pie dish out from behind his back and thrusts it at Derek's chest. “Here,” he mumbles, unable to meet Derek’s eyes as he accepts it. He glances over his shoulder at his jeep instead, calculating the distance and whether he can make it out of the driveway before Derek realises what it is, but the foil is already rustling and he knows it's too late. Wincing, he forces himself to look back at Derek who's staring down at the pie crust with his mouth open.

“Uh. Merry Christmas?” he tries, but that just turns Derek's bewildered stare on him which is even worse.

“How many of these did you make?” Derek's voice isn't much more than a croak, his eyes wide and vulnerable.

Stiles’ tongue feels like it's swelling up to choke his airway, and he wonders briefly if it's his body's way of attempting to prevent the humiliation his next words will probably bring, but Derek's gaze has him pinned, helpless as a butterfly. He swallows hard to clear the way and says, “Just one.”

Derek’s eyes flicker their focus between each of Stiles’ like he's searching for something, but he's clutching the dish between two hands like it's something precious and Stiles starts to think maybe, just maybe, he's done something right.

“How did you know?”

“I saw you eating a slice at the market,” Stiles reveals, trying to muffle the confession by chewing on the drawstring of his hoodie.

Derek stares at the pie then raises an eyebrow. “Were you following me?”

The string falls from his mouth as he gapes and flails. “No!” he yelps. “There was a situation!” A situation that the Derek distraction made him too late to prevent.

“A situation that led to you spying on me while I was hiding?”

Stiles doesn't miss Derek’s admission that he hadn’t wanted to be seen, but he doesn’t want to draw attention to it, doesn’t want Derek to clam up or grow sullen or say ‘thanks but no thanks’. So, he files it away for another time, for when he can ease Derek into understanding it’s okay to eat whatever, whenever, wherever he wants, and fuck whoever made him feel otherwise. Instead, he continues his flailing, going warm and fuzzy as a grin spreads across Derek’s face. “That’s not what happened!”

Derek looks back down at the pie in his hands like he’s embarrassed that he can’t stop smiling so hard. With his head still ducked, he sobers and looks up at Stiles through his lashes. “Are you doing anything tomorrow?” he asks, a shadow of that vulnerability returning.

Stiles is sure his face must light up like a Christmas tree at the question, but he also deflates as suddenly as someone pulling the plug. “I have to do all of Mrs. Acker’s Christmas present wrapping.”

Derek raises a solitary brow of confusion.

“Hey, that recipe didn’t come free, you know!”

The confession raises both of Derek’s eyebrows into his hairline before they furrow with disbelief. “You offered to wrap her presents in exchange for…” He trails off, mouth hanging open.

Stiles tries for a shrug of nonchalance but he can feel his cheeks betray him.

“That’s… That’s…” Derek fumbles for the right word and Stiles is hoping he’s looking for ‘romantic’ and not ‘creepy’, but he’s saved from his search by a loud voice.

“ _JUST KISS HIM ALREADY!”_ Laura shrieks out of an upstairs window and Stiles leaps nearly a foot into the air.

“Shut your goddamn window!” Derek snarls back, the tips of his ears glowing.

“ _FINE! WE’RE FREEZING OUR ASSES OFF ANYWAY!_ ”

Stiles pales at her use of the word ‘we’, picturing the entire Hale family craning their heads outside to listen. He wants to sink under the boards beneath his feet and Derek looks to be of the same desire.

The window slides shut but Laura’s words linger and Stiles takes in Derek’s bare arms and thin pyjama pants.

“You should go inside,” he tries, just as Derek asks, “Wanna come in?”

The question hangs between them as Stiles swallows hard. He really doesn’t want to face Derek’s family after what they just heard. “Can your family come _out_ side?”

Derek laughs and ducks his head again, but he reaches for Stiles’ hand to pull him inside. Despite the cold, his hand feels like a little hot water bottle and Stiles isn’t sure how he’s expected to ever let go.

“We can go up to my room,” he assures him over his shoulder.

“And what would we do there?” Stiles asks, wiggling his eyebrows when Derek glances back at him.

Derek breathes a laugh. “Sit with the door open while my mom walks past every thirty seconds? _But_ we can eat pie,” he announces, and he sounds so happy at the prospect, it’s lucky he has a hold of Stiles’ hand or he’d be trying to pinch Derek’s cheeks. Instead, Stiles has to bite his lip to keep from saying something embarrassing like _you_ _precious dumpling!_

He follows Derek inside, steeling himself for any confrontation from his nosy family members, but if it’s the price to watch Derek savour every single bite of the pie he’s made for him, it’s one he’ll gladly pay.

**Author's Note:**

> Make sure to click to the next in the series!


End file.
